


hearts that burn

by littlelionvanz



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Adulthood, Alternate Universe - Future, Asocial Behaviors, Depression, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Long Term Mental Illness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:59:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10049006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelionvanz/pseuds/littlelionvanz
Summary: It felt too weird to say the real amount of time since he and Kuroo Tetsurou had last spoken to each other; it was exactly five years and eight months. Six years seemed about right anyways. Might as well have been a lifetime.





	

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. 90% of this is cope fic involving heavy themes of mental illness and references to childhood sexual abuse (completely inspired by personal experiences). If you'd like to skip over the segment where it's implied, it begins at: _For any pair of respectable parents(...)_
> 
> and ends at: _When he met Kuroo Tetsurou(...)_
> 
> 2\. beta'd by [pettey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pettey)

Kenma really wanted to go home.

There was one more pallet to downstack and then he could work on condensing the other three he worked on this morning. The truck order that was delivered wasn’t very big, so it shouldn’t have taken very long. If he wanted to get out early (and back to sleep), he could work through his last break and get as much product out onto the floor as possible before the store opened. It wasn’t always ideal, but Kenma had been yawning for over an hour straight.

Kenma worked a six-hour night shift of a neighborhood grocery store within walking distance of his home. He worked mostly alone, handling the truck shipments, inventory, and stocking. He preferred it that way, doing the work his way and not particularly having to depend on others. His hours sometimes varied, depending on his mood.

He checked the time on his phone. Almost five in the morning. If he wanted to get home before the morning rush of the early shoppers, he would have to finish up soon. He gave the string of text notifications from Lev a quick glance over and made a mental note to read them all when he got home. They were most likely links to reddit articles and cute animal gifs.

A black and yellow box cutter sat atop one of his scattered empty boxes. He took it, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger as he weighed his options. 

Kenma would still have to collect his empty boxes from the sale floor and take them to the baler to be crushed. Working on this next pallet would mean more trash, more time. He already had a list written and ready for his supervisor of the next truck order that needed to be put in for Thursday. Essentially, items they didn’t need to receive today, but would need in a couple days. 

Clean up, condense his other pallets, zone the sales floor. Be done within an hour, forty-five minutes if he waited till he got home to pee. 

It was a Tuesday, a slow day. The day-shift employees would need something to do when they inevitably got bored. And besides, Kenma always did enough work for three people anyways. He didn’t necessarily care for the work itself, but he got to work alone and if felt oddly satisfying to know that his boss and coworkers would be pleased with how organized and presentable he always left his area of the sales floor by the time the store opened. It seemed there was a benefit to having constant anxiety about being scolded for doing a bad job. 

Some days when the work never seemed to quit, typically around any important holidays, Kenma would work well into the afternoon. But other days, if the shipments were particularly small and there wasn’t much to do, he was clocked out and home in bed before his mother even woke up. 

It felt like one of those days. Kenma yawned for the third time that minute. It was time to go.

 

Kenma was walking home within thirty minutes of the projected hour he gave himself. He’d left before his supervisor could arrive  for the morning and ended up keeping Kenma for an extra three hours with little tasks that needed to be completed right then immediately. (Typically things he forgot to do and needed Kenma to cover his ass for.) 

Exhaustion began to weigh on Kenma as soon as he unlocked the front door of his home. It was grey and dark with the slightest hint of morning. His mom wouldn’t be up for a little while. He trudged to his room and quietly closed his door. 

He could shower and then sleep.

He could sleep and then shower.

Showering increased his chances of not being able to sleep. 

He always ended up regretting not showering after a work shift because he always woke feeling grimy. 

He also really had to pee still.

It really shouldn’t have been a hard decision to make, Kenma knew this. He knew what a normal person would do in these dilemmas, because this wouldn’t be a dilemma for a normal person. Deciding on showering was not something that required a long thought process dedicated, and yet it plagued Kenma almost every day, as loath as he was to admit it.

Kema stripped off his work clothes (which consisted of sweat pants found on the closet floor, a hoodie pulled from under his bed, and a t-shirt he wore yesterday), and tossed them back onto the floor. His hair was tied into a loose, frankly sloppy, bun which was where he left it. 

He compromised with himself by washing his face and brushing his teeth, then finally peeing, and being back in bed within 10 minutes of coming home. Kenma buried his head under the covers before he could begin to feel bad about himself, and was asleep within moments. When he woke, he’d begin working on a new song. That seemed productive enough to make up for how long he was about to nap for. 

  
  


There was a knock on the door and Kenma’s eyes snapped open. He fished around under a pillow for his phone. Blackout curtains made it almost impossible to tell what time of day it was outside. He could have slept straight through to night, which wouldn’t have been the first time it happened.

9:57 am. 

Shit. Barely four hours. He had been hoping to sleep at least until noon. 

The front door opened, and his mother’s voice was muffled but seemed happy? Excited? Were they expecting visitors today? It sounded like there was another voice in his house. He and his mother didn’t get many guests. Usually she told him beforehand, so that he might have time to clean up and look presentable. Kenma was suddenly wide awake, straining his hearing to figure out who the second voice belonged to.

He didn’t like strange people being in his house, and it caused a twinge of panic to spark at his nerves. Suddenly his duvet was overwarm and causing sweat to pool on his back. Kenma was still sore and tired from work and it wasn’t worth the effort to try and move too suddenly, so he just lay there unmoving. 

The telltale creak of the floorboards let Kenma know his mother, Kozume Miyako, was coming to knock on his door in approximately three seconds. 

He closed his eyes and counted his heartbeats until—-

“Kenma, are you awake?” 

She always knocked and waited a moment for his reply before opening his door. He was faking sleep.

He grunted a response, letting her know it was okay to come in. She was always respectful of not barging in, had always been since he was a kid. He appreciated that. 

“I have a surprise for you,” she said in a loud whisper. 

 

Kenma was unmoving. “I hate surprises.”

“Get dressed,” she insisted. “Come on out.”

“Is it grandma?” He pushed himself up onto his elbows and rubbed his eyes. “Because you know I need at least a few hours notice if it’s grandma.”

“No, it’s not Grandma, it’s a  _ surprise. _ ”

_ God, whatever. _ He wanted to grumble, but didn’t. 

She closed the door and the room was dark again. 

Kenma pulled himself up, throwing off his duvet to let his overheated body cool off a moment from his cocoon-like nap. He rolled his neck, trying to alleviate some of the pinch that had collected at the top of his spine, to no success. He knew he needed to see a chiropractor about getting his back readjusted, but after a solid year of the same achiness, it didn’t really seem worth it. To waste money and work more of his physically demanding job just to be back where e started. He’d rub his neck and shoulders down with Bengay later. 

If it wasn’t grandma coming to visit, he wasn’t wearing jeans for whomever this visitor was. But he did grab a clean pair of sweatpants that he’d cut off at the knees,  at least , and a clean t- shirtt. The rubber hair tie was pulled from his hair easily, and his hair fell down his back. Kenma ran his fingers through it a couple times before pulling it up again, neater. 

He could hear the mumbled voices coming from the living room, and even if he didn’t appear to be nervous, Kenma’s skin was prickling a bit. He walked slowly, coltishly, trying to get an edge on who could be in his home. 

He rounded the corner with a sucked-in breath, holding it to withstand the shock of whoever it could have been. 

A man? Sitting next to Miyako on the sofa. He was nicely dressed, in a button- up navy blue shirt and dark jeans. His hair was combed neatly and almost too-perfect, and he so obviously stood out amongst the plainness of their home. The man was young, so clearly fresh and new in the world, but carrying his status and class like a second skin. Kenma disliked him on the spot. 

They didn’t see Kenma until he stood for a moment, awkwardly. 

His mother was the first to look up, smiling, and then the man. He smiled too. 

_ No. _

The man jumped to his feet, “Kenma!”

It all flooded back into him with a wave of nostalgia and panic. Kenma didn’t feel nearly as happy as he should have. 

He said the name before contemplating why it took him so long to recognize him at first glance. 

“Kuro.”

It was him,  _ no _ , a ghost of him. A strange, unfamiliar version of the once-lanky teenager that used to frequented this home and Kenma’s life with a sense of permanence. He thought Tetsurou would reach out to try and hug him, or even shake his hand, but he didn’t. Seemed as though he remembered Kenma’s sense of boundaries. 

“It’s been,” Tetsurou sighed, “a long time.”

“Six years,” Kenma said evenly, as if he pulled a random number from off the top of his head. Indifferent to the fact. 

It felt too weird to say the  _ real _ amount of time since he and Kuroo Tetsurou had last spoken to each other; it was exactly five years and eight months. Six years seemed about right anyways. Might as well have been a lifetime. 

“Wow,” Miyako marveled. “Has it really been that long? It’s honestly felt like ages.” 

Kenma felt a flash of anger for a moment. Tetsurou practically grew up in this house alongside Kenma. How could she not have kept track of every day since he left? Why was Kenma suddenly left alone, as if she hadn’t asked him every couple of months if he knew how Tetsurou was doing. Kenma wasn’t the only one who had missed him, and he was the one that tried to forget him. 

Her honey-sweet voice made Kenma want to roll his eyes, but he let it pass for a moment. 

There was almost too much to say and Kenma couldn’t even think of where to start. 

_ How are you? _ Too vague. 

_ What are you doing here? _ Too brash. 

_ Why after six years?  _ He couldn’t get into it. 

_ Why didn’t you call? _ No. 

There was a time when Kenma almost idolized Tetsurou. His former best friend was lame and tried too hard to be cool, and Kenma would never admit it to his face, but there was always something about him that seemed so effortless and easy. He tried and succeeded at everything he did with hard work and genuine charm. It was almost impossible to dislike, once you were on the inside. He was unflinchingly kind underneath his smug, sometimes dickish exterior, and he had to have been kind to go out of his way to keep Kenma as a friend. If Kenma didn’t know him so well over the years, he would have hated him. Instead he loved him. 

Now, he didn’t know this Tetsurou. He felt like a stranger looking in and having to take him at face-value, and not quite wondering what his motives were. No longer messy- haired and slouching, but clean, proper, and so very adult. He looked like a model cut from a fashion magazine, everything about him designed to fit together so well. He aged perfectly, almost seamlessly. Of course he  _ was _ Tetsurou. But he wasn’t Kenma’s  _ Kuro.  _

It was so painfully obvious that they didn’t quite fit together anymore. Tetsurou had never made Kenma feel self-conscious about anything, probably because Kenma knew how lame, and sometimes annoying, he actually used to be. But now, Kenma felt dwarfed by a sun and regretting the shower he didn’t take.

Kenma was just weirdly pissed off about it all and simultaneously awash with nostalgia and an indescribable need to be near him, as if those five years and eight months were yesterday. He wouldn’t dare move from this spot.

There was a growing pressure in his chest that was due to burst at any moment if someone didn’t say something. 

“My sister,” Tetsurou said suddenly, “she’s getting married. I’m here for the week. Your mom said it would be alright if I stayed over since my parents’ house is filled with family. I’ll go crazy.”

He talked nervously, not as casually and surely as he used to. The words were forced out as if he noticed Kenma’s increasing panic in the moment. It was a weird thing to have not changed over the years. It had its desired effect. Miyako moved to Kenma’s side from her place on the couch. 

“It’ll be fun, right? Like when you were in middle school.” She smiled, and Kenma forced the lines of his face to smooth out to something neutral. No doubt he looked visibly uncomfortable and unsure. 

“Uh, yeah.” Kenma’s throat was dry. “Yeah. Cool.”

She smiled, petting his shoulder, and left to the kitchen. Probably to make tea or coffee. That was how she handled her nervous energy. Tetsurou dug his hands into his very expensive jeans’ pockets. Now that they were left alone, Kenma wasn’t sure if he should say something, sit next to him, speak first. He didn’t know what was allowed anymore. It used to be that Tetsurou would fill the silences and make conversation easy, or they would sit together in quiet while he read and Kenma played a game on his DS. 

But Tetsurou was his  _ guest  _ now, not his best friend anymore.

“So, uh,” Kenma found a place on the floor to stare at while he fished for words. “Heard you live in America now?”

It had been years since Lev told him about Tetsurou transferring from the University of Tokyo to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Kenma wasn’t wrong about that because it was one of the few times he ever cried; cried that Tetsurou was leaving, and that he had to find out from Lev, of all people. Still he phrased it like a question, a random factoid he heard last week and wasn’t sure about. 

“Yeah,” Tetsurou smiled politely. “Boston, it’s a few hours from New York City. I just finished my graduate degree, so I’m just working for now.” 

“Oh, I bet your mother misses you terribly,” Miyako supplied from the kitchen. “Think you’ll move back home?”

“Maybe,” he called out. “Honestly, I’m not really sure.”

Kenma pretended not to notice that Tetsurou spoke the last part looking at him.

Kenma grew tired of standing and didn’t care anymore if Tetsurou found him awkward, he wanted to sit. He took his mother’s former place on the sofa, tucking his legs under him and leaning against the arm of the seat. Tetsurou did the same, sitting more casually than when Kenma first came in the room. 

Kenma remembered weirdly that this was their familiar places on the Kozume’s sofa. Tetsurou at one end, Kenma at the other, something playing on television, and it was normal. 

Kenma noticed Tetsurou’s very fancy watch and began picking at the frayed edges of his haphazardly cut sweatpant shorts. He suddenly felt boyish and young. 

He wanted to go lie under his duvet for a while, preferably for the rest of the night. 

Miyako brought back a few mugs of coffee—tea for Tetsurou—and Kenma sipped his quietly as she and Tetsurou talked. She asked him questions, and Kenma didn’t really care to listen to. It was a weird part of him that made him feel as though he didn’t have a right to know what was going on in Tetsurou’s life if he himself wasn’t invited to be a part of it, or be told about directly. Kenma was very good at blending into the background of conversation and letting others speak for him. His mother was good for that at least, and most of the time no one ever really noticed or cared. 

Kenma let his thoughts drift to the song he wanted to make. He’d been toying with a piano melody for a few days now and hadn’t really committed anything to paper. It was a slow, sad thing, a few slow chords. He’d possibly add strings to it as well, if he wanted to be extra angsty and cinematic about it. He would have to think about any auto- tune effects. It had been almost a month since he posted a new song, and the subscribers to his channel were getting antsy. He hated the pressure but knew it was the only way he could ever get anything posted, much less completed at all. 

In any case, if he didn’t have to entertain for much longer, he wanted to work on it today. He wasn’t sure about the vocals, he never was. Kenma wasn’t much of a writer and didn’t like to spend too much time obsessing over lyrics, because he would end up hating the entire song eventually and trashing it. Singing made him feel insecure anyways, and the idea of Tetsurou being in his house, hearing him, made him decide against it almost as soon as he thought it. He didn’t like the idea of being so exposed like that. 

Fuck it, he wasn’t going to work on the song  until after Tetsurou left. That was that. 

His coffee grew cold in his hands, and by the time Kenma looked at his old friend again, he didn’t know how how long it had been since he zoned out. He was really bad about that. He could lose whole hours sometimes, if he let himself get too into his head. 

He looked at Tetsurou and Tetsurou smiled. It was _ one of those Kuro  _ smirks, like an old token he saved over the years as if to say,  _ Yep, still me. Still here. I didn’t go anywhere.  _

Kenma felt it pull at his lungs and he wanted to say,  _ I knew it was just a joke after all. Don’t leave me again, you ass.  _  
  


While Tetsurou napped in the guest bedroom throughout most of the afternoon, apparently having just flown in that morning and totally jetlagged, Kenma was left on his own again. If he’d just flown in today, how long in advance had his mom known that he was coming? She wasn’t very good at keeping a secret, and there was no way Tetsurou would just show up in his living room uninvited. It didn’t matter how good of friends they  _ were _ , they hadn’t so much as texted in  _ years _ . The surreality of the whole thing began to gnaw at him like an ignored tooth ache. 

He found his phone and opened his conversation with Lev and began typing, ignoring all the previous messages he promised to look at. Kenma sometimes found it weirdly ironic that the one person that aggravated him the most in high school would become his only friend at twenty-four.

**Kenma (11:26):** so kuro’s back apparently

**Lev (11:26):** yeah i saw

Lev was always a freaky-fast texter. 

**Kenma (11:27):** how did you know and i just found out when he was in my living room... 

**Lev (11:28):** im friends w/ him on fb. posted abt going to his sis’s wedding so i assumed

**Lev (11:29):** also WHAT. HE’S STAYING WITH YOU?

**Kenma (11:31):** yes calm down. Guess our moms conspired or something?? Idk but he’s sleeping in the next room

**Lev (11:32):** u ok with it?

**Kenma (11:33):** should i not be?

**Lev (11:33):** well i mean it’s Kuroo

**Lev (11:34):** and well

**Lev (11:35):** its been years

**Kenma (11:37):** yep

**Kenma (11:39):** its weird. I dont know what to feel. he’s so different

**Lev (11:40):** how??

**Kenma (11:43):** he’s such….. an adult? his hair is different too which is the weirdest part. its decent

**Lev (11:45):** omg ur right.. His hair changed over since he was a teenager that’s soooo crazy

**Kenma (11:48):** fuck off ok. I just mean like he’s rly successful and wears cologne and a button up shirt and he’s so proper. he looks more like a ceo than someone that used to help me with physics. Idk how to be around him

**Lev (11:51):** whats wrong w/ being urself???

**Kenma (11:53):** do you want a list

**Lev (11:56):** oh stop. he cant be that different now

**Lev (11:57):** are you still mad at him?

 

Kenma pulled his thumbs from the keypad of his phone. He hadn’t even  _ thought _ about being angry with Tetsurou in at least three years. It wasn’t necessarily anger anymore. It was something deeper and more smoldering. It was the kind of thing that festered over time, often going unnoticed or unrecognized. Not given any attention or room to grow. Kenma didn’t like to linger on it, or fixate on how heavy it weighed in the center of his chest whenever he bothered to look at it. He could pretend he didn’t care, that he was unfazed, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. He could go through the day largely without really thinking about it, and Tetsurou would only occupy a small fraction of his thoughts — only existing in a memory of when they were younger. It helped to only remember the things he liked. Not what happened later. 

So no, he wasn’t  _ angry _ , he was just still very hurt. Sometimes there wasn’t much of a difference. 

A normal person wouldn’t even be hurt still. A normal person would be happy to see their old best friend again, and would be so proud of their success and happiness in life. A normal person would know how to let time heal things and probably wouldn’t have been that upset to begin with. 

On paper and for the sake of appearances, Kenma was  _ not _ angry. 

**Kenma (12:04):** i don’t know 

**Lev (12:05):** r u gonna talk to him abt it?

**Kenma (12:07):** no. theres no point

**Lev (12:08):** idk feels like the perf opportunity to me?? closure i mean

**Kenma (12:09):** eeghgks

**Lev (12:11):** start ur new song yet? I still havent recovered from ‘Open Waters’

**Kenma (12:12):** not yet, probably never gonna top that one

**Lev (12:14):** and yet u manage to stun me every time with ur ungodly talents

**Kenma (12:16):** ugh shut up. im going to shower.

**Lev (12:18):** have fun!

 

Kenma didn’t shower for another two hours. 

There was a slight knocking coming from his door that Kenma had just barely noticed. He pulled his bulky headphones down to hang around his neck. The soft cushions were warm from hours-long use. 

“Yeah?” 

The door was pushed open, and Kenma swung around in his desk chair to see Tetsurou standing in the doorway. He was changed out of his earlier outfit into a casual t-shirt and soft pants, likely having showered. It was already past nine in the evening. 

“Can I come in?” he asked hesitantly. 

Kenma nodded and paused the show he was watching on his computer with a tap at the space bar. Tetsurou came in, pushing the door closed without shutting it, and came to sit on the bed. It was unmade and messy, and Kenma wished to hell he had at least pulled the cover over it properly. He could see the drool stains from his pillow from across the room. Tetsurou sat across the bed to lean against the wall. His long legs hung off the side. It was familiar to him. 

“I was thinking, did you wanna get some dinner or something?” he asked to break the uncomfortable silence. “Your mom said you hadn’t eaten yet.”

“I’m not that hungry,” Kenma said evenly. “I’ve got work in a few hours anyways, I don’t really like to go out before.”

Tetsurou nodded as if that was something he should have already known. 

And then he smiled. 

Kenma couldn’t stop his face from scrunching together. “What?”

Tetsurou shook his head again. “I can’t get over how long your hair is. I like it.”

_ It’s about 10 inches of dead ends but okay.  _

There was an itch in his fingers that made Kenma want to touch his hair that hung loose around his shoulders. It was black now, the bad bleach job having finally grown out, and almost reached the middle of his back. He mostly wore it pulled up now because of his job. He remembered how much it freaked him out about having his field of vision exposed so he always wore it in front of his eyes. It didn’t really bother him so much anymore, Kenma was just too lazy to cut it now.  

“I’m not really used to seeing all of your face.”  Tetsurou continued. 

Kenma rolled his eyes. “I’m not used to your hair being combed, like at all.”

Tetsurou let out a huff of a laugh. Even after a long nap, the hair that would once be all over the place and in wildest condition imaginable was still somehow so neat and tended to. 

“Okay, fair enough.”

A smile tugged at Kenma’s lips against his will. After all that time, Tetsurou was still annoyingly infectious like that. 

“When’d you start playing music?” he then asked, gesturing towards Kenma’s keyboard that sat in the corner of the room. 

_ Ah, hell.  _

“I don’t really, kinda just have it. It was a gift from last Christmas.”

_ I have almost fifteen thousand subscribers on my channel and  _ _ forty _ _ six completed songs from the last seven months.  _

“Don’t get bashful, Kenma,” Tetsurou smiled. “I’m sure you’re really good. You’re pretty much an expert at like anything you’ve ever tried.”

_ No, that’s you. Stop trying to be so goddamn charming, it’s really annoying. _

“Will you play me something sometime, before I go?”

_ Fuck, I’d really rather eat glass.  _

Kenma tore himself away from facing Tetsurou and nodded vaguely. “Yeah, maybe.” 

He hoped the answer would be enough to satisfy Tetsurou, long enough to forget, and the week would pass quick enough without it being mentioned again. 

Since childhood, Kenma was filled with so many insecurities and anxieties. He hated being put on the spot, he hated being praised. None of it felt real, just thinly veiled criticism. It felt like lies to trick Kenma into thinking he was better than he was at something he had no interest in doing anyways. He hated being in public and stopping himself from thinking everyone was talking about him. Every whisper and passing glance was someone who immediately hated Kenma for absolutely no reason. 

The thing about irrational fears and anxieties, being told by people on the outside that it wasn’t real, it was all in one’s head, it was  _ irrational. _ Kenma hated that more than actually being crazy. The things he felt were real to him. They were founded in something very concrete within him that wasn’t so easily resolved by someone simply telling him to calm down, to stop being so hard on himself. In any case, it really just pissed him off but also added another person to the list of those he couldn’t trust any longer. 

It wasn’t exactly wrong if it those anxieties were rooted in something true.

The strange irony about Kuroo Tetsurou is that he was the person that was the most aware of what Kenma struggled with, the person with whom Kenma was most worried about being judged and scrutinized. Tetsurou was so  _ perfect _ and so  _ ideal _ despite his faults, and sometimes the idea that he had chosen someone like Kenma to be friends with made no sense to him. But in all the years since they had become friends, Tetsurou never once betrayed him like that. It didn’t stop Kenma from always waiting for the day that Tetsurou would turn on him as well. It seemed like it was a matter of time.

This was no exception. 

Tetsurou let it drop. 

“Alright, well, I guess I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.” 

He began to scoot himself off the bed and Kenma felt bad. He immediately sensed that he was being rude but couldn’t find the voice to ask Tetsurou to stay. He felt like he was ruining something that was already so fractured between them. 

Tetsurou stopped at the door when he opened it and turned back to Kenma. 

“You know, I’m really glad to see you again,” he said, gripping the doorknob tight. “I have missed you a lot.”

Tetsurou smirked, like he had on the sofa earlier, only sadder and smaller. Something in Kenma broke, like the stones that held a dam in place to kept all the water at bay. 

His voice cracked noticeably when he blinked back tears. He was biting his lip so hard, the coppery taste of blood covered his tongue. 

“Yeah.”

He didn’t move until he heard the door close, and immediately covered his mouth to suppress a scream that came out in the form of a gasped sob.

Kenma didn’t know why he was reacting this way. He hadn’t felt like this, like really  _ anything _ in so long. Sometimes it was as though he couldn’t feel at all some days, and sometimes it scared him that he couldn’t find a tangible thing.

But here he was, just a few moments with Tetsurou, and he was doubled over on his computer chair, trying to put the stones back in his chest that kept everything in place. He wasn’t doing a very good job of it. He was losing control of something in his mind/ And he wondered if he ever really had a grasp on at all. 

It was a really particularly brand of fucked up to know that you just weren’t  _ right _ . Things inside you feel so shifted, scattered, and confused, and sometimes the hardest thing should be the simplest. Like eating, sleeping, living.

It was like perpetually existing in a purgatory dreamscape where everything changed in the world, but you remained the same. No time to catch up. No one was waiting for you. It was like there were weights hanging from you, and you were always last in the race. It was like being awake in your own funeral, and that funeral was as long as your whole life. It was waking up to cry in the middle of the night because you remembered that once you hadn’t felt so bad all the time.

It was a someday that existed today for everyone else, but was little more than a distant fleeting dream. The past was a black hole, the present was an unmoving clock, and the slightest shift of the minute hand was ten years gone. 

It was all of that compressed and compacted and compartmentalized into something you forgot you’d learned how to coexist with.

It was all of that and then being asked, _ “Why are you sad?” _

Kenma sometimes felt much too small to carry all of this inside him despite it filling every pore of him since he was a child. If there was a line between the badness that latched onto him like a parasite and Kenma himself, it had been etched away long ago. He and it were one now, and it bothered him to think that people knew him as something completely different: an optical illusion they constructed themselves, having based it on everything they’d wanted to see and nothing that they hadn’t.

Who did they think Kenma was? He wasn’t even sure. 

The idea of claiming ownership of himself and accepting that he was this dark festering thing, rather than it just being a part of him, set his teeth on edge and was almost too much to think about. 

He couldn’t  _ be him _ . Kenma didn’t want it. 

It was too much to say:  _ “This happened to me, not some other version of myself. It is me. It’s who I am.” _ So he didn’t. He would not let himself accept he was this ugly mangled  _ thing _ . 

He could say the words all he wanted, and sometimes he almost believed that he could deny that which he was. 

An ugly mangled thing. 

 

The concrete was hard and level where he lay. His knuckles scratched against the hard graininess of it. If the music from his headphones was loud enough, it would beat through his skull and it would consume him. Sometimes just for a few minutes when he needed to calm down and bring himself back into himself. 

Arms stretched out, hood pulled over his head and nearly over his eyes. Unmoving, weightless, completely at peace. 

_ Recoil, Ignite _ . 

The title seemed appropriate. Loud and all-consuming, a song of guitar and drums that forced one’s attention. Music like this required no words and forced him to listen and calm down. All he could feel was his heartbeat and nothing else. Nothing else in the world needed to exist. 

Kenma knew this park his whole life but he didn’t begin to frequent it as much until a little over a year ago. When he needed to get out of his house, out of his head, he’d come here in the middle of the night when it would be abandoned and empty. Some days he would walk around, but most of the time he would put on his headphones and lie in the center of the basketball court until his body went numb. Sometimes he would lie there for hours waiting for a bad feeling to pass. 

Sometimes he just wanted to witness the sun light up his world, and pretend it was a metaphor for himself — that one day a light would shine in him and he’d be okay to. It was enough to get him through the day. 

A lot of times when he couldn’t quite pull a song together, lying out here was all he needed to clear his head and approach his problems with it with sound thoughts, even if it was freezing and snowing and damp as hell,

Kenma lied about having to work. Sometimes he did that if he wanted to be alone. His mom never knew that this is where he would come. She would largely disapprove of him wandering around in the middle of the night. But he was also twenty-four. 

The night was cool, almost chilly, but it was Kenma’s favorite type of weather. The fluorescent lamps that lit the court made everything glow orange, and he almost felt like he was laying in a dream where time had stopped for a moment enough for him to catch his breath.

_ I love you the best, Kenma. So beautiful, Kenma. _

His eyes snapped open. He pushed himself up into sitting and pulled his headphones off and was immediately hit with the silence of the park. The words rose through him like bile he couldn’t hold back. Or maybe this time it was actually bile. 

_ I love you the best, Kenma. _

Pause. 

_ So beautiful, Kenma. _

No, not one memory, but two. Two different voices. One before the other.  _ Fuck, which was it. _

Kenma pulled himself up from the ground. He wasn’t dealing with this right now. 

It was time to go home. 

 

The door opened quietly and Kenma toed off his shoes. He felt too wired and dehydrated. It was almost three in the morning, but it only felt like he had been gone for just a few minutes. The park was only a block away from his house. 

Kenma pulled off his hoodie and tossed it onto the couch before heading to the kitchen. He clicked on the oven light so he could at least see where he was going. It wasn’t all that bright, the light bulb needed to be changed soon. 

He pulled a water bottle from the fridge and pulled himself up on the counter top. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was until he downed half the bottle in just a few seconds. The chill of it flooded his system and he could feel it spreading through his chest. It was an odd but strangely comforting sensation. 

“Kenma?” 

Tetsurou’s voice was distant, and for a second it almost felt like a memory. 

Kenma screwed the cap on the bottle and prepared to scoot off the counter when Tetsurou appeared from the darkness of the rest of the house. 

“Oh,” he said, forcing a cordial smile. “Hey.”

“Thought you were working?” Tetsurou’s voice was a low gravelly whisper. 

“Yeah,” Kenma sat the bottle next to him. “I wasn’t really feeling well, so I just came home.”

Tetsurou nodded and the house fell quiet again. 

“Is everything okay, Kenma?” 

“Well, I mean, it might just be something going around—”

“No, I mean,” Tetsurou pulled his brow together. “Is it okay that I’m here? I feel like you don’t really want me to be.”

Kenma shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

Tetsurou shrugged tight back. “Just, we haven’t talked in so long, and I wasn’t even sure if you ever wanted to see me again.”

Kenma let his eyes drop to his lap and then to Tetsurou as he came to stand next to him. So much about Tetsurou was different but he really was the same, when Kenma let himself study him. The sharp angles of youth were refined and well-carved and broad, and he even held himself the same, long and casual. He had always been good-looking, even as a young boy, and it only magnified with age. Sometimes Kenma was too embarrassed to look at him. Tetsurou wore masculinity with such a refined grace that made Kenma very aware of his still boyish frame and soft features. 

“I really have missed you,” Tetsurou then said, almost to himself.

“Then why didn’t you call?”

Kenma said the words before he could stop himself. 

“I wanted to,” Tetsurou nodded. “So many times. Thought about what I would say like a thousand times.”

Kenma ran his tongue over the spot on his lip where he’d bitten too hard earlier. He fought the urge to bite there again and worsen the wound. 

_ But you didn’t. _

“It’s okay,” Kenma said, pushing himself off the counter. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Kenma…”

“I’m serious, Kuro. I’m fine. You have a new life now. It’s okay if I’m not in it, don’t apologize.”

_ Don’t make me have to think about this anymore. I’m tired.  _

Kenma left before Tetsurou could say anything to stop him. It was three in the morning and he wasn’t in the mood. He still felt jittery and weird from the park and wasn’t in the right headspace to even try to entertain this. 

Kenma fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He didn’t wake until late the next morning, head foggy and his lower body aching from disgustingly painful arousal. Images of a feline smile and hands made for holding onto lingered in the back of his head. He lay on his stomach, too tired to fight the remnants of the dream from coaxing him again. 

It was nothing particularly graphic — he could feel a weight on his back, a body covering his own. Lips lingering on the back of his neck and the feeling of warm steady breaths making him shake all over. Kenma ground himself into the mattress with slow, heavy rolls of his hips. He heard whispers and wanted to touch, but couldn’t. Skin was pressed hotly to skin, sweaty and smooth and perfect. The dream was an old one, pulled from memories before he really knew what sex with a boy could be like, when the only word he knew was  _ “touch.” _

He almost gasped Tetsurou’s name as he came, with his face buried in his pillow, hands fisted in the sheets. Kenma locked his mouth shut, trapping any sound behind gritted teeth. He never let himself make any noise when he jerked off. It wasn’t a spectacle to just release tension, and he always felt embarrassed anyways, so there was never a need to make it work. 

When his breathing grew even and his heartbeat slowed, Kenma became incredibly aware of what he had just done and instantly hated himself for it.

It wasn’t as if it was the first time he had jerked off thinking about Tetsurou, it had just been a  _ very _ long time. Even if it wasn’t intentional, Tetsurou was easily the most attractive person Kenma ever knew. They spent a lot of time together in locker rooms and communal showers, so teenage hormones simply did what they did best. He didn’t care, it wasn’t a big deal.

It wasn’t a big deal until he loved Tetsurou, and then he felt guilty. He didn’t have the right, he was a horrible friend. Kenma couldn’t remember exactly why he felt  _ so bad _ about it when he was seventeen, but it likely made sense at the time. Probably some deep-seated paranoia that Tetsurou would find out somehow. 

When he was nineteen, it was done out of loneliness. 

When he was twenty-one, it was out habit. 

He stopped after that, forgetting enough of Tetsurou to make the imagery almost impossible to conjure up. It never felt worth it anymore.

Now he just felt like shit because Tetsurou was leaving soon and Kenma didn’t want to be nineteen again, left with too many feelings to process and not knowing if he was ever going to see him again. He didn’t need this. There was a part of Kenma that hated Tetsurou for doing this to him. 

Without any real rhyme or reason to it, Kenma just felt bad in general. 

Jerking off was okay when it wasn’t personal, when it was reduced down its technical components. It was over within a few moments and rarely ever an  _ intimate _ affair. It didn’t even feel  _ sexual _ , the way he was able to depersonalize himself from it. Even when he was a teenager and touching himself to thoughts of Tetsurou, he felt dirty and wrong about it. Like he was using his friend for his own lecherous needs. As he got older, he trained himself to stop so he could manage to function without having to suppress thoughts of self-loathing afterwards.

And it worked, sometimes. Most of the time. 

Mostly, he didn’t feel like he deserved to think about him. 

Or anyone. 

It was easily recognizable as guilt.

 

_ had a love so bad  
_ _ it ate my heart.  _

 

Kenma pulled his phone from under his pillow, opened the notepad app and typed out the line as soon as he thought it. Perhaps this song would have lyrics after all. 

Tetsurou wasn’t around as much as Kenma thought he might have been over the next few days. He didn’t really say where he was going but it was assumed he was spending time with his family. There was a wedding soon. 

Kenma didn’t forget that it was the real reason why Tetsurou was here anyways. 

When he was around the house however, things were unwaveringly tense. The more Kenma became aware of it between them, the worse he felt about it. There were attempts at small talk, invites to go out, a few  _ “Hey do you remember that time” _ stories. Kenma supplied as little conversation as possible, just wanting to be left alone. 

Tetsurou would visibly deflate at his indifference and find the cue to leave him alone again. 

Kenma could tell that he was trying to repair the damage that had been done. Tetsurou had a very special skill at getting people to forgive him, regardless of the transgression. 

He was apologizing without saying the words. He was attempting making up for things Kenma wasn’t sure he knew he was trying to make up for. 

Did Tetsurou not really know  _ why _ things weren’t the same anymore? 

It angered Kenma and offended him to think that after all this time, he was the only one left to obsess over what had gone wrong. If Tetsurou truly thought their friendship died because friends grew apart per the natural order of life, it would surely kill Kenma. 

Avoiding Tetsurou also served a double purpose because, frankly, Kenma  _ really _ couldn’t stop thinking about him. Just last week it had been months since he had even last thought about him, and how Tetsurou occupied almost every thought. 

_ I love you the best, Kenma.  _

It burned through him like embers. 

 

**Kenma (15:22):** did i tell you that kuro told me he loved me

**Lev (15:23):** when like recently at ur house??

**Kenma (15:24):** no u doofus. back at nekoma. Well kuro’s graduation

**Lev (15:26):** ahh well, wasnt it obvs that he did?

**Lev (15:27):** i mean i thought he would have told u all the time. 

**Kenma (15:30):** i guess he did yeah. but he only said it once

**Lev (15:32):** huh thats weird

**Kenma (15:32):** ???

**Lev (15:33):** its just

**Lev (15:34):** i feel like i remember him saying it like a lot

**Lev (15:35):** not to me obvs, but i guess when u werent around??? 

**Lev (15:37):** but i have v clear images of him saying “i love kenma” or “i love him so much” or smth like that

**Kenma (15:40):** oh..

**Lev (15:41):** hey do you wanna talk abt this over lunch??

**Lev (15:41):** my treat??

**Kenma (15:42):** ok

 

“Hey are you alright?” Lev was leaning over the table a bit. With his giant frame it was almost hard not to. 

Adulthood made an easy truce with Haiba Lev. Though still freakishly tall, he had grown muscle in the last few years so he no longer looked like a walking lamp post. He was more aware of his height, clumsiness gone with youth, and carried himself like a man, calm and sure, and less like a newborn giraffe. His hair was cut in a modern style and was accompanied with a beard that Kenma was surprised that Lev could even grow. 

Kenma could grow three hairs above his lip and wasn’t emotionally prepared to talk about them. 

They sat at a secluded booth of a cafe. Kenma just ordered a matcha tea. He didn’t particularly care for public restaurants, but this place was quiet and slow in the middle of the day. 

It was the first time he and Lev had actually seen each other in almost a month, considering they lived less than a few miles away from each other and text regularly. Sometimes Kenma felt bad, but Lev never seemed to mind. They both worked and Lev always seemed too busy for Kenma to even ask to hang out. He was some sort of sports counsellor person at a youth center. He worked with kids, Kenma wasn’t sure of the details. 

“Kenma?”

His head snapped up, and Lev offered a pardoning smile. He really had to stop zoning out like that. 

“You okay?” Lev asked. “You seem kinda on edge.”

Kenma shrugged.  _ When am I not? _

“Let me ask you something?”

Lev nodded. 

“Why are we friends, Lev?”

“Sorry?”

“I just mean,” Kenma wasn’t sure what he meant. “I don’t really get why you bother with me.”

Lev sat back in his chair and looked bothered by the question. Kenma really didn’t say it to hurt his feelings, but he regretted saying anything at all. He usually always regretted speaking. Though when he looked at his friend again, Lev’s face softened with concern. 

“Kenma, can I ask you something?”

“I guess.” 

“Do you remember when I didn’t make a university volleyball team?”

Kenma thought back to those years ago. He sat on the phone with Lev that night until their phones died. 

“You were the only person that let me be sad,.” Lev continued, folding his hands on the table. “No one really _ got it _ , you know? They just wanted me to stop being sad. But not you. You didn’t get mad at me for not being happy.”

Lev smiled comfortingly as Kenma dropped his eyes to stare at the polished wood of their table. 

_ You got better though. I don’t know how to be anything else.  _

“I know you’re not happy, Kenma, but you’re a good person.

“I don’t feel like one, though.”

It had taken years for Kenma to get used to the strangeness that was Haiba Lev. Energy as bold and endless as his height. He was too cheery, too wild, too much of everything; that simply being with him made Kenma annoyed and anxious. And yet Lev had latched onto him for the two years they had together at Nekoma High School and idolized Kenma as his setter and later captain of their volleyball team. Kenma didn’t want him to, didn’t want or understand why anyone would to begin with. He didn’t even want to be the captain and wouldn’t have been, had he not been unanimously chosen;- he always assumed that Tetsurou made them. 

After high school, Lev was the only one to keep up with Kenma when everyone else went on about their lives and left Nekoma behind. Kenma had lost touch with his friend from Karasuno, and everyone else was really Tetsurou’s friend first. Both he and Lev were so desperate for friendship that Kenma almost felt sorry for him, and at the time Kenma was in no position to be choosy about company, so it was tolerated. But what came from simple tolerance out of not wanting to be a total friendless loser, Kenma genuinely came to care for Lev outside of being teammates. It also helped that Lev matured from his overexcited, childlike behavior from first year. Still annoyingly kind and optimistic, but calmer and more patient. Maybe it was years of familiarity, but Kenma never felt like he had to prove himself to Lev, make excuses for where he was at in his life, because Lev never cared. 

When he dropped out of university during his first semester, Lev said easily,  _ “Maybe it’s not for you?” _ and then asked if Kenma wanted to get a frozen ice. They never talked about it again, and maybe that's what Lev had meant about letting him be sad and not questioning it.

“Maybe it’s something hard to see when you’re in it?” Lev said after a moment. “Like when someone says you have something on your face, you just gotta trust that the other person isn’t lying, right?”

Kenma was so very annoyed at how simple his point seemed. He could understand that logic, though he didn’t want to. It was his petulant stubbornness to Lev’s annoyingly optimistic simplicity. He wished he could be as hopeful as him.  

His tea had gotten cold. Damn. 

Lev asked about his new song, again. Kenma waved it off as not worth talking about. Sometimes he regretted showing Lev his channel because now his friend designated himself as Kenma’s number one fan and future manager. All he did was nag. 

Kenma asked about his job, which sent Lev into about six different stories about the kids he worked with and who from high school they reminded him of, so Kenma had a better idea of what they were like. 

Lev didn’t ask about Kenma’s job because they both knew it wasn’t interesting enough to warrant a conversation. 

They were talking around the real reason why they were out to lunch to begin with, the subject Kenma brought up the first time. 

After all the stories were told and each were caught up on the recent events on their lives, Kenma braced himself, knowing that Lev hadn’t forgotten. 

“So,” Lev said, downing the last of his iced drink. “What in the hell is going on with Kuroo?”

Kenma groaned and laid his forehead on the table with a not-too-soft thud. He allowed himself a moment of theatrics before pulling his head up and resting it against the window.

“I don’t goddamn know,” he admitted truthfully. “It’s like he’s trying to make things how they were before, when we were in high school?”

Lev mimicked him, sitting the same way, levelling himself with Kenma. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“Well, yeah! I mean,  _ no, _ not  _ really,  _ technically. Just—”

Kenma took a breath, he could feel himself getting worked up for a second.

“Did you know he applied for JAXA? To be like an astro-whatever scientist?”

Lev’s eyes widened. “Woah, really?”

“And mom was telling me about his apartment he’d told her about ’cus it's by some American historical landmark or whatever. And also how much he’s learned about himself living abroad, and how well he did in his studies and the awards he got for being smart and shit.”

“Sounds impressive?”

“No, it is though, that’s the thing.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I’m almost twenty-five and I work in a grocery story, Lev. I’m a college dropout who lives with my mom still. I don’t like to…  _ do  _ things because I get too overwhelmed, and don’t like to leave my house. I don’t feel bad about my life, normally, but when I’m around Kuro I always feel… eclipsed by him.” 

Kenma put his thumb to his mouth in anxious energy to bite at the already eaten cuticles and nail beds before forcing his hands flat on the table, as if to focus his increasingly hectic thoughts. 

“It was easier in high school because we were always, like, together, it seemed like, and doing the same things. But I was always, like, trailing after him, in a way, and I was always within reach of him and he always stopped and waited for me to catch up. Now it’s like he’s too far ahead for me to even keep up anymore, and I’m never gonna be where he is. And it’s just so  _ weird _ now. And, God, I’m still so  _ pissed _ with him.”

He had to stop talking, needed to stop. He stopped biting his thumb to rub the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

Warmth began to bloom in his face, and he immediately felt embarrassed. He didn’t even think if there were other people nearby. This only happened a few times when Kenma got worked up and anxious enough. Vomiting words until someone stopped him or he became aware of himself.

Lev looked so amused, and for some reason it really pissed Kenma off almost immediately. He wasn’t sure what sort of reaction he expected from him but it wasn’t that expression he had on his face now. That look of someone knowing something the other person didn’t, like they had a secret they ertr bursting to share. 

“I think that’s the most you’ve talked about Kuroo Tetsurou in the whole time I’ve known you.”

Kenma groaned again and rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

They talked a bit more before Kenma grew tired and wanted to go back home. Lev didn’t ask him about what he mentioned earlier in their texts and Kenma was grateful. He had had enough emotional exposure for one day.   
  


For any pair of respectable parents whose goal was to raise a well-educated and well-rounded child, it was essential for them to begin early. Start at a young age to help them hone whatever talents they may possess that might serve them well in the future. 

Kenma began to play the piano when he was five years old. Not too many people knew this about him. He remembered loving the smoothness of keys and the shine of the wood where he could see his reflection. At his grandmother’s house sat a decades old baby grand piano, and on long weekends he would sit for hours and study every key’s note, memorizing the sound and how it differed from the key before and after it. 

She was the one who suggested formal lessons, (if only to keep him from making mindless racket at her house). 

Kenma remembers thinking how lucky he was, to learn something so extraordinary. 

His teacher was a man old in years and with a voice so soft, Kenma often had to strain himself to hear his instruction. Their lessons passed easily, and Kenma remembered that man’s smile when something was played well. 

Kenma was playing in recitals by the time he was seven, and it was odd to remember because his childhood self was braver and more in control of his life than in his mid-twenties. 

It ended in an afternoon, with a crash, and then a bang. The black hole of his memory was left with a single token of that day in spring. 

_ So beautiful, Kenma. _

Three words that tainted every single inch of him like tar. 

He quit his lessons immediately and made his mother promise not to send him back because he hated piano from then on and forever. 

The thing about memories was that they never quite showed you the whole picture. When you were a child especially, and you were remembering something from your childhood, everything was heightened but not quite exact. Some days Kenma wondered if he made it all up. If some of his memories were black spots and he could only tell you what page of his music book he was on, what hour it was, how hard it was raining, and how strong the smell of dust was, it didn’t mean it actually happened did it? If that was only part of the picture, the other part did not exist, right? It couldn’t be real if you couldn’t remember, right?

_ So beautiful, Kenma _ . 

Three fucking words that always proved the theory wrong and made Kenma curse every god in existence for allowing that to happen to a child.   
  


When he met Kuroo Tetsurou, it felt like touching a piano key for the first time.   
  


The wedding was in two days. Kenma wasn’t surprised at having not been invited by Tetsurou’s sister. Somehow  Tthey had been friends for almost a decade, and yet somehow he had met her only a handful of times. 

Tetsurou was gone often for suit fittings and family dinners, and all those important obligations. Kenma thought it was too much fuss for two people to decide to want to spend the rest of their lives together. He didn’t think he would ever get married. 

Kenma thought that seeing less of Tetsurou would make being within proximity of him easier. He instead found himself missing Tetsurou. It annoyed him endlessly that he just wanted to be around him. He  _ wanted _ things to be how they were again. 

When he lay awake at night trying to sleep, he replayed it over in his head, Tetsurou’s high school graduation. Not the actual ceremony, but after. 

There was a party thrown by one of the other upperclassmen. There was too loud music, and excitement was infectious and overflowing. There wasn’t a reason not to be happy; that was unless you were a second year and the person you loved most was leaving. 

He thought about how much Tetsurou was smiling that night, how tightly he squeezed Kenma’s hand while they walked through the chaos of graduates. 

Sweat formed between their palms, and he never wanted to feel anything else for the rest of his life. It was exhilarating. For the first time, Kenma didn’t feel like an outsider, but it didn’t matter because this was his and Tetsurou’s moment.

In a room, it might have been a bedroom, Tetsurou kissed him. It was little more than a quick peck that had just barely found it’s mark on Kenma’s lips, and the shock of it rocked through him completely and left Kenma feeling dizzy and lightheaded. 

“I love you the best, Kenma,” Tetsurou whispered against his ear before trying to kiss him again. 

_ So beautiful, Kenma. _

The nausea was almost immediate, and Kenma felt fire all over his skin. He shoved Tetsurou away against a wall, hard, before he could even think about where he was and who he was with. 

“Kenma?” 

He knew he was with Tetsurou and that Tetsurou wouldn’t hurt him, but for just a moment, an instant, he had forgotten, and it was enough to cause the damage. His body was reacting on its own, against the will of his mind that was trying to calm it down. He wasn’t in any danger, not with the person who protected him the most. He was  _ fine _ . 

The tears spilled anyways, without effort or warning. 

Tetsurou looked helpless and terrified and if he had been saying anything, Kenma couldn’t hear it and he couldn’t make it stop.

He was on the sidewalk the next moment he opened his eyes, Tetsurou wasn’t following him. He ran until his lungs burned and his legs ached, and he didn’t stop until his body forced him to stop. Kenma dry heaved in a bush from the exertion and the panic alone that needed to dispel itself in some way.

He was at the park, the basketball court. A cop found him the next morning just before the sun rose, and made him go home.

It was a few days before Kenma talked to Tetsurou again. There was a plan — he was going to apologize and tell Tetsurou everything. He deserved to know that it wasn’t his fault, it was Kenma. Though the idea of spouting that horrifically cliche excuse made him feel unbelievably shitty. But maybe if Kenma could explain himself, Tetsurou wouldn’t hate him. 

Kenma lived a life of being constantly betrayed by himself and he felt foolish for thinking this time would be any different. 

“I’m sorry.” 

_ I’m sorry for pushing you away, it wasn’t your fault. I’m fucked up. Something bad happened to me, Kuro. I want to tell you and I want you to not hate me, I want you to understand I want you the same way. I love you the best too. I’m just too crazy. _

He didn’t say any of that. Just,  _ I’m sorry.  _ Full stop.

Tetsurou nodded and accepted this diplomatically and gracefully.

“It’s okay, Kenma.” His voice was shaky. “Please, can we just forget it?”

Tetsurou was embarrassed and upset with himself and Kenma couldn’t fix it. 

He agreed and they never talked about it again. A week, Tetsurou had moved onto the University of Tokyo campus and their entire world was condensed text messages that got forgotten about, missed phone calls, unkept promises to visit, and a whole bunch of things gone unsaid. 

In just a year and a half they were strangers like a whole lifetime had been undone. When Kenma came to the university too, he saw Tetsurou only once, sitting on a lawn surrounded by new friends Kenma didn’t recognize. Tetsurou was laughing and smiling and perfect. He looked so happy and relaxed that Kenma couldn’t bother himself to go up to him. But Tetsurou saw him and they locked eyes for a moment.

It was like looking at a memory as it was happening. He had a feeling that it would be the last time he would see Tetsurou for a very long time, and he hated it so much his eyes began to burn with tears. Kenma remembered thinking how unfair it was, that this was all it would add up to for them. From spending nearly every day together since they were children, to strangers. It didn’t stop him from walking away and not turning back though. Tetsurou didn’t follow him either.

Kenma stopped going to class that week or the week after because he couldn’t get out of bed. 

A month later, he dropped out completely and moved home. 

At the end of that school year, Kenma found out that Tetsurou had moved to America. 

He cried so hard he threw up.   
  


_ i burn myself alive  _ __  
_ just to know  _ _  
_ __ what your lips taste like

_ again _

 

The front door cracked open quietly, and Tetsurou came in and shut it. Kenma looked up from the sofa and gave a simple nod to at least acknowledge his presence. It was just a little after eleven in the evening, the wedding was tomorrow. He imagined Tetsurou had more family obligations before tomorrow. He didn’t ask as Tetsurou didn’t say. 

“Hey.” His voice was soft and sounded like relief, as if he waited all day to see Kenma. 

Kenma smiled slightly, “Hey yourself.”

Tetsurou came to sit next to him on the sofa, taking up the last bit of space where Kenma wasn’t lying. 

“Excited for tomorrow?” Kenma asked, mostly just to ask anything. 

He set his phone down on his lap to at least have the appearance of giving Tetsurou his attention. He forced himself to get better than that over the years. He could multitask having a conversation with someone while being on his phone or writing lyrics, but learned that some people liked having eye contact and undivided attention and could mistake the lack thereof as disinterest or rudeness. Not that Tetsurou ever cared anyways, but as Kenma grew older he cared more and more about not giving people a reason to be mad at him. 

Tetsurou shrugged. “Mostly ready for it to be over. People spend way too much money on weddings.”

Kenma nodded in agreement.

“Homesick?”

“Not really. I live in Boston but it’s not really my home, you know?”

“Then why did you leave?”

“Well, MIT was always my dream school.”

“Tokyo was a good school too.”

They were looking at each other now, neither of them making the attempt to look away. Kenma wondered if things were going where he thought they might be. If it was, he didn’t fear it. If anything, things felt overdue. 

Tetsurou was careful with his words, crafting them slowly as he spoke. 

“I wanted to experience something new. I’ve only been here my whole life.”

How diplomatic and fair and not specific enough for Kenma to disprove. But it wasn’t the whole reason and they both knew it. 

“Just say you wanted to get away, Kuro.” Kenma rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to lie.”

Tetsurou frowned for a moment before smoothing his face over again. It was so very Kuro. He hated confrontation. If he was angry at all, he never let anyone see it, instead choosing to keep his true emotions masked. It was something Kenma learned to read pretty early on in their friendship. So even when Tetsurou wasn’t visibly angry or upset, it was there in other ways. He flexed his fingers, withdrew eye contact. His shoulders were drawn back slightly as if to prove entirely the opposite, that he was perfectly okay. 

“Don’t do that,” he said, words clipped and almost sharp with a finality on the end punctuation. 

“Do what?” Kenma challenged. 

“Make it seem like I  _ abandoned  _ you or something.” 

“Didn’t you though?”

Kenma hadn’t realized how high his voice was raised until he could hear it bounce off the walls of the living room. Tetsurou looked at him, shocked and hurt. Kenma never yelled at him before, or at all.

They weren’t teenagers anymore and it was never more clear than in this moment. 

It was a long tense moment before Tetsurou spoke again. “You didn’t want me anymore.”

Kenma could feel all the tension going to his jaw, making it hurt when he clenched his teeth. He was not prone to outbursts but he couldn’t stand it anymore. He sat up on the sofa and crossed his legs. 

“Are you so fucking dense, Kuro, that you took me having a panic attack when you kissed me as a sign that I didn’t want to be your friend anymore?”

“Well, generally, when someone has a panic attack when another person kisses them, it’s not exactly a sign that things are going well.”

There was hot anger that began to boil low in Kenma’s gut because  _ that’s not it at all.  _

“I had a goddamn panic attack because I am a fucked up person. It happens sometimes, don’t take it personal.” 

Kenma’s words were full of venom and spat with accuracy. He wished his voice wouldn’t shake though. But it was too late. The dam had been broken again, and this time there was no walling it back up. 

“You were my  _ only _ friend, Kuro,” he continued, voice low and watery with tears. “And you just fucked off. Do you have  _ any  _ idea of how badly that messed me up? You were the only person that I  _ ever  _ had.”

“Kenma—” Tetsurou backed down quicker than he thought, and it pissed Kenma off because he wasn’t done being upset about this. 

“If you bothered sticking around, it wouldn’t have taken you long to figure out I loved you the best too, you absolute prick.”

Tetsurou rested his face into his hands, perched on his knees. He groaned something inaudible like defeat. Kenma pulled his legs out place them flat on the floor. There was still a foot of space between them. 

“I should have followed you,” Tetsurou said after a long moment. 

“What?” 

“That night,” he looked up at Kenma with red eyes. “When I kissed you. I think I knew it was more than because of that. It was something else. But I was so fucking embarrassed and scared that you hated me that I didn’t. You weren’t okay and I just let you leave. I’m sorry.”

It was Kenma’s turn to come down from his anger. It took him a series of deep breaths and slowly letting out the tension of his jaw. He wiped his eyes and wiped his fingers on his thigh. 

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m not your responsibility. Or at least, I shouldn’t have always been.”

Tetsurou looked away. It took him a long time to respond, during which the sound of cars driving past the house was the only noise that filled the empty room.

“You’re right.” Tetsurou sighed. “You weren’t my responsibility. But you were my best friend too, and I liked looking out for you.”

Silence felt like a truce, an offering of peace, for a moment. Kenma wondered distantly if his mother could hear them from her room. She only ever knew the bits and pieces of things that Kenma offered, which oftentimes was one- word replies if she asked about Tetsurou. She didn’t understand why friends as good as they were could just stop talking out of nowhere. There was never enough energy in him to explain or to even want to have that conversation.

“I used to think about what I would say if I saw you again.” 

Kenma looked up to see Tetsurou hard-focused on the wall across the room. 

“If by some chance,” he said, “you wanted to even talk me again.”

“What would you have said?” Kenma asked, curious. 

Tetsurou let his shoulders slump, at a loss. 

“I don’t know. Anything? Just… I didn’t care if you weren’t _ the same _ as me. I worry about you, you know.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know how to not worry about if you’re happy, if you’re okay.”

The guilt had returned, because it was always present in some way, waiting to resurface. It was as if Kenma had somehow betrayed Tetsurou again by making him worry, even while they were apart for all those years. Why couldn’t he just be fucking normal? Why didn’t he stay in university and got some bullshit degree? And then a good paying, respectable job, maybe even a partner, maybe Tetsurou. Maybe his mom would stop stressing so much about him, his dad would call him once in awhile. 

He didn’t know how to tell Tetsurou he was sorry for being a failure, so he let his silence speak for him. It usually did anyways. People interpreted what they wanted when he didn’t speak and it was easier than trying to stand up for himself. Kenma was weak like that. 

Tetsurou turned to face him, scooting just a fraction closer, but enough for Kenma to feel it. 

“Can I ask you a question?” he said softly., “Only promise you won’t get mad or offended?”

Kenma pulled his brow together in caution, but nodded. 

He could see Tetsurou turn over the words in his mouth, choosing the first one was always the hardest. It was little strange, to see him walk so carefully around what he wanted to say. A younger Kuro always said exactly what he meant with excellent precision. Granted, sometimes it made him come off as sort of an asshole. Now he just looked… timid. 

“Do you remember our first sleepover, when we camped out in my backyard?”

Kenma thought for a second but couldn’t pull the memory. In truth they had so many over the years, hundreds if he had to count, that they all blended together. 

“No.”

Tetsurou pulled on his bottom lip with this thumb and forefinger, leaning forward to rest on his knee. 

“I was eleven, you were ten. We were sleeping and you woke up just  _ screaming _ and crying. When I tried to wake you up, you were hitting me and kicking me away. My dad heard you from in the house and rushed out, thinking you got hurt. I think you wet yourself because whatever nightmare you had scared you so bad. Your mom came and got you, and later on when I tried to ask you about it, you made me promise not to tell.”

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. Tetsurou spoke the words like they pained him, dragging them up from his throat like they were made from glass because his voice was gravelly and raw by the time he stopped. 

A tremor began to shake through Kenma almost immediately. He couldn’t speak, he didn’t remember that, but it happened more than once at home. He didn’t know Tetsurou had seen it too, and never said anything. Surely he knew… he had to have put the pieces together by now. Kenma couldn’t say it, wouldn’t say it. But god, he was so tired of not being able tell. 

Kenma was made to promise not to tell. 

His breathing became labored with the strenuous effort of trying not to cry. Sharp, shaking, hard breaths from his nostrils, because his jaw was painfully clenched shut. He hated this part. 

“Kenma?” Tetsurou dared to reach out to touch his arm but Kenma barely registered it. “Did someone hurt you?”

He immediately shook his head yes. 

“Oh god, Kenma.”

He hated this too, the pity in Tetsurou’s voice that covered him like an ugly soggy blanket. Kenma successfully squashed it down, pushing it away. 

“It’s okay,” Kenma said hurriedly. “It was so long ago, seriously, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine!” Tetsurou said much too loud before catching himself. “Kenma, come on.”

“What do you want me to say?” Kenma stood, letting Tetsurou’s hand drop from his arm. 

If he didn’t get away from this conversation soon, it would all be over. The brief part of him that wanted to talk about this, that wanted Tetsurou to know everything, was immediately replaced with anger and shame that was loud and hot beneath his skin. It wasn’t Tetsurou’s fault, but all the lines in his head were beginning to blur and he felt too exposed to be able to do anything about it. His bedroom was so close. 

Tetsurou stood, taller than Kenma still. His head was dropped and his shoulders slumped in an effort to make himself smaller. 

He expected Tetsurou to say something, anything. Demand why Kenma hadn’t told him sooner— that was usually the first thing to be said. How exactly did it happen? Why didn’t he seek therapy? Every question Kenma didn’t have an answer to. Every question was each asking the same one:  _ Why are you making me upset about this. How can I make this all about me? _

When Kenma looked at him, when he  _ really _ looked, it was impossible not to realize how young Tetsurou looked. So vulnerable and lost. His eyes were rimmed red, and even in the darkness of the living room, Kenma could see the dampness beneath them from tears. 

Tetsurou fixed his eyes on Kenma and it was only a moment before he stepped forward and pulled him into his chest. Arms wrapped around Kenma’s back and held him close. There was a moment’s hesitation before he allowed himself to curl his arms around Tetsurou’s middle. He slid a hand up his back to grip a strong shoulder. 

It was home, for a minute, in this place. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever hugged another person. It was overwhelming to be held against another person, a person who loved you the best. A person Kenma missed more than anyone in the world. 

“I am so sorry,” Tetsurou whispered against his head, just above his ear.

Kenma pressed his forehead into his shoulder, letting himself breath Tetsurou in. 

It would be so easy to let go. Just let it all go. 

So he did, finally, entirely.   
  


Though Kenma stopped playing the piano formally when he was a child, he never forgot how. Much of his youth was centered around video games that served as the perfect escape from how overwhelming the rest of the world was for him. It stopped working after a while though. 

He was at work, stocking something. He had his headphones in because the store wasn’t open yet, and singing softly to himself. Kenma didn’t realize he was doing it until a coworker, a cashier who was counting her till, heard him from across the store. She complimented him on how well he could sing, even when he rebuffed her through his embarrassment. He never took compliments well and assumed she was just poking fun at him. 

Some while later, he was walking home and passed by a music shop. A digital keyboard was advertised in the window, and Kenma felt that long distant pull towards playing music again. He forgot what it was like to remember it and not feel that pull of shame and disgust with himself for liking it to begin with. 

He bought it immediately, never using his money on anything for himself anyways. It sat in his room, unopened for nearly two weeks before he even touched it. 

It was simple logic, really. 

It was a matter of wills. He could let this one thing he loved be taken from him, or he could own it again. 

Of course, choices always came with clauses and fine prints, didn’t they? Kenma’s logic had always been riddled with them. A give and take. A sacrifice was always demanded and it seemed to crop up in every aspect of his life. 

Despite being mentally unwell, he wasn’t often suicidal. But was being asocial and devoid of much human contact and watching the years blend together with no memories, nothing concrete to hold him to the present besides the will to just  _ get on with the day, _ was all of that a certain kind of death too? 

Kenma worked, had a job, was technically a functioning member of society, but it never stopped everyone he knew from telling him how much potential he had, and then lecturing him on how he could still get his life together. 

He had his health, but what did it matter when he was too anxious to even be outside of his home for more than a few hours in daylight at a time? 

He was very good at playing the piano, but every song he posted online, every time he touched a key, felt like a fucked up kind of compliance with what had happened to him. An agreement he didn’t sign. As if he was okay with it. He never posted his name or identity. His pseudonym,  _ Kozu, _ was the only shield he had to keep from letting the universe know that he was a bad person who accepted his fate as it was. He knew it was impossibly stupid, but trauma had a way warping one’s mind and twisting it in such a way that it felt like preparing a court case to defend why you would like something, even when all the evidence suggesteds you should be turned off completely and traumatized by the thought constantly.

Kenma’s whole existence, as meek as it seemed, was a constant explanation of why he deserved to even so much as live in the world the same as everyone else, even when he didn’t believe he did.  
  


It was almost eight in the morning when Kenma was done with work. He didn’t mind staying late into the morning, there were some inventory that needed to be pre-counted for monthly inventory at the end of the week. There was also a part of him that wasn’t in a rush to head home just so fast. 

Last night, before they went to bed, Kenma had given Tetsurou a link to his channel. He didn’t regret it, but was anxious all the same. In the years they had known each other, from ten to now, Tetsurou had never heard him sing, or even knew that he could. Not every song was such though;, some tracks were minute and a half simple 4-note melodies he wanted to get out of his head. Another was eleven minutes long which he’d played and recorded live during a panic attack, appropriately titled,  _ “Panic Attack and 3AM _ . 

They talked about everything. Kenma broke open his ribs and showed Tetsurou everything that sat at the bottom well of his chest.  _ Cherish it or burn it, the choice is yours, Kuro. _

Tetsurou was flying out tomorrow, so it felt like the perfect time, if not the only time. 

Mr. Higoshi was in his office when Kenma went to find him to tell him he was leaving for the day, and give him a quick rundown of what he was able to accomplish and would get to tomorrow. 

“Oh, before I forget, Kenma,” the manager gestured for him to come into the office. Kenma did as Mr. Higoshi pulled something from the top drawer of the small filing cabinet that sat next to his desk. It was a piece of paper and he handed it to Kenma with a smile. 

“You’re a good kid,” he said as Kenma took it. “I know this isn’t everyone’s ideal place to work, but you’ve really been a big help. You’ve got a place here for as long as you want it.”

Kenma looked at the paper, and it was a check. It was almost the amount as his check, if not more. He didn’t deserve it.

“Mr. Higoshi, I—”

“Get out of here before I change my mind, son.” 

With his manager returning to his paperwork, Kenma took that as a cue to leave the conversation closed. 

“Thanks, I guess.”

He was waved off and Kenma smiled for the first time in months.   
  


Miyako was awake and puttering around the kitchen when Kenma came home. He could hear the shower running which meant Tetsurou hadn’t left yet. 

The check was folded up in his pocket. He wondered what he should do with it. 

“Hey, mom,.” Kenma said, leaning against the entry frame of the kitchen. His mother smiled at him, stirring milk into her coffee. 

“Good night at work?” 

Kenma nodded. 

She took a sip of her coffee, tasting it, and sighed with satisfaction before placing the spoon in the sink. 

“Have you seen Kuroo in his suit?” she asked with a curious grin. 

Kenma could feel his cheeks warm almost immediately. 

“No.” He tried not to sound offended by the question. For some reason he never thought of it. Until literally right that second. 

Miyako smiled knowingly. “He looks good, so very handsome, that Kuroo.”

Kenma rolled his eyes and waved his mother off. 

“I’m going to bed, mom.”   
  


Kenma laid on his bed, he wasn’t exactly sleepy. It was hard to put a name on what he felt. He used to think that if he talked about it, talked about what was wrong, what was wrong with  _ him _ , something might change. Anything. He thought things would get better or even worse. It was largely why he never wanted to talk about it in the first place. Was it worth jumping into something unknown? 

He didn’t even feel disappointed to discover that he felt largely the same. Telling Tetsurou everything didn’t cure him, he didn’t think it would go that far. 

Kenma was still himself. Still twenty-four and plain. He was still anxious and sad and overthought things to the point of headaches. He’d lived with it all for so long, he couldn’t even imagine a life that was normal. Kenma didn’t much care for change. 

Except there was Tetsurou now, or rather  _ again _ . Or back. To stay? Unfortunately not. But there was a weird buzz in Kenma’s gut that told him he wouldn’t be gone for long. There wouldn’t be another long five years and eight months of dead air.

Kenma spent so many years missing him and being angry with him, he didn’t give much thought about the actual possibility of being able to  _ have _ him, or what that would mean. 

He told Tetsurou that night that he wasn’t his responsibility back then, and he meant that even now. Wanting to love Tetsurou wasn’t free from the weighing guilt of being not an equal partner, but that person that Tetsurou looked out for. Friends did that. What they were, or rather, what Kenma had fleeting thoughts about them being, wasn’t that. Tetsurou was an overachiever, of course he would try his best if a relationship was what they both wanted. 

But Kenma wasn’t going to stop being the person he was, the person he had been for most of his life, just because Tetsurou loved him. Because he loved Tetsurou back. Love wasn’t enough, but it was something. Kenma refused to live with the idea that Tetsurou would come to resent him. 

Last night, before they went to bed, Tetsurou asked Kenma if he’d be interested in coming to America to visit one day. He phrased it like a vague hypothetical question, but Tetsurou never said anything he didn’t mean. He wouldn’t have asked if he genuinely wasn’t curious. Kenma wasn’t sure how to answer yet so he gave him the link to his channel and let it serve as a compromise, for now. 

Kenma didn’t sleep. He went to his keyboard and played that melody that had been turning over in his head like crazy all morning. 

_ but god i’m such a mess  
_ _ and i hope that’s ok _

  
  


**Kenma (20:13):** finishing up my song. I’ll link u when its done

**Lev (20:14):** !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Lev (20:14):** WHATS IT CALLED

**Kenma (20:16):** “hearts that burn”

**Lev (20:17):** tell me its abt kuroo

**Kenma (20:18):** no

**Lev (20:20):** no its not abt kuroo or no u wont confirm that ur finally recognizing ur gay feelings

**Kenma (20:22):** thats it no song for you

**Lev (20:23):** nooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  
  


Tetsurou came home earlier than Kenma thought. He wasn’t sure how long weddings usually lasted, but he assumed there were parties involved that ended the next morning with a lot of drunkenness. And given that Tetsurou was in the immediate family party, Kenma didn’t expect to see him that night. 

Not that he was waiting up for him or anything. 

If there was a skill that Kenma was never more grateful to possess in this moment, it was the ability not to react, to keep a stone face. And he never needed that skill so bad than seeing Tetsurou stand in his doorway. 

It would have been stupid, how cliche the moment was. Like something out of bad porn. Kenma lying on his bed, Tetsurou appearing in the doorway with his tie undone and hanging around his neck, the dark blue silk of his waistcoat creating a perfect silhouette of his long slender frame. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled up past his elbows. His eyes were hooded, hair messy. He looked absolutely exhausted and Kenma wasn’t ashamed to burn the image into his mind. 

“Hey,” Tetsurou said.

“Hey yourself. How was the wedding?”

He shrugged, and smirked. “Romantic.”

“Didn’t know you were so soft-hearted, Kuro.”

“Excuse me, I’ve always been a romantic.”

“Uh-huh.”

Kenma moved over so that his side was nearly touching the wall and patted the empty space. Tetsurou slinked across the room slowly, approaching with caution, and Kenma didn’t take his eyes off him. There was a part of him that wondered if Tetsurou knew how attractive he was, and if he stopped by the bathroom before coming to Kenma’s room to tousle his hair a bit. 

That was something Kuro would do. 

Tetsurou lay next to him with a heavy sigh. It wasn’t easy to mistake that everything had shifted between them, and not for the worse. 

“I feel like this bed got smaller,” he said, emphasizing how his feet nearly hung off the edge.

“You always blamed the bed, it’s not it’s fault you’re big as hell.”

“I’m healthily sized.”

Kenma couldn’t help but smile. “How many times have we had this argument?”

“As long as it takes for you to get a new bed.” Tetsurou yawned, stretching his back and turning onto his side. He closed his eyes and folded his hands under his chin, faking sleep. 

Kenma turned on his side as well, facing the wall. He wanted to feel Tetsurou behind him, even if it was selfish. 

“Pretty presumptuous to assume I’d get a bed for you to fit in.”

Tetsurou let himself lean forward until he was pressed to Kenma. God, it felt like they were seventeen again. Sometimes after practice they would come home and nap for a few hours before doing homework. It was those rare and beautiful times where Kenma could be totally free of intrusive thoughts and other stressors. He forgot how comfortable with Tetsurou he could be with almost no effort. 

He felt normal with him, especially now.   
  


Kenma woke with Tetsurou carefully climbing off the bed. He pulled a blanket over his shoulders, and Kenma kept his eyes closed. Fingers touched his cheek, his neck. Hairs were brushed off his face and smoothed away. And then they were gone. 

He fell back asleep with a smile that was impossible to squash down.   
  


“Kenma,” Tetsurou whispered, shaking him slightly. 

He woke instantly, sitting up and finding Tetsurou in different clothes with a backpack slung over his shoulder. The room was grey and still dark. 

“Leaving?”

Tetsurou nodded sadly. 

Kenma leaned forward to hug him, slinging an arm around his neck to pull him in. He didn’t care if the move was too bold. If this was the last he was going to see him for a while, he wanted to remember this moment as best he could. Tetsurou hugged him back tightly. 

“I’m happy you came back, Kuro.”

When they let go, Tetsurou quickly wiped his eyes so Kenma wouldn’t see, and Kenma pretended not to. 

 

Tetsurou left almost as quickly as he came. Kenma waited a few minutes after he had gone before opening his phone.

 

**Kenma (6:07):** listen  
  


He linked Tetsurou the song he uploaded the day before and put his phone back before he could see any reply.  
  


\---

 

_ Had a love so bad  
_ _ It ate my heart. _

__ And I burn myself alive  
_ just to know  
_ __ what your lips taste like

_ Again _

__ I'm a mess  
__ with or without you  
__ but that don't stop  
__ the want  
_ the constant wanting  
_ __ of you

__ Had a love that hurt  
__ the way it filled me  
_ with life  
_ __ and it wasn't mine to keep

_ so i threw it away _

__ And i wanna run away with you  
__ to that place we made up  
_ where nothing ever hurt  
_ __ and i held your hand

_ but god i’m just a mess  
_ _ and i hope that's ok _

**Author's Note:**

> (Feel free to skip over all of this, I just really wanted to explain some of my motivations and reasoning behind what went into this fic)
> 
> 1\. So I was really REALLY hesitant about even writing this because a lot of it is based off my own personal experiences, so inviting people into things that are personal to you is always a risky gamble. I tried to depict Kenma's mental illness as best I could to based off how I've experienced depression/anxiety, but still keeping Kenma's characterization recognizable. One of the difficulties in writing an aged-up character who has had long-term mental illness is sort of mapping out how they change over the years. Different ages mean you react to things differently, and if you're adult with depression/anxiety who has had it since childhood, you can become better at just Having it - I guess """managing""" is a strange word for it, but it's something that's just a factor of your life so you can still work and "technically" function without actually being "better", if that makes sense. 
> 
> 2\. The decision to make Kenma a CSA survivor, like a sufferer of long-term mental illness, was also taken from my own personal experience. I feel really weird about putting that kind of trauma in a fic (or even reading about it), if it's not something I have first-hand account in (or a writer thereof). Only because it can get SO MESSY so fast. So I reasoned with myself that if I did include it, I didn't want to sort of fetishize it and I didn't want it to be offensive or crude. Also it sort of begs a chicken/egg scenario, would a person have mental illness because of this trauma, or would it happen regardless. And so in Kenma's case, I did kind of want to showcase things in his life that could be a root cause, because sometimes things do happen, but also sometimes a person just is mentally ill and so assigning blame sort of undermines different experiences? And those experiences don't always affect you constantly, sometimes it's one over the other, sometimes its nothing and you just ARE depressed and it's whatever. As mentioned, I am a CSA survivor, and I have had a really close childhood friend who I was really attached to me essentially abandon me post-high school and that was deeply traumatizing as well. 
> 
> 3\. And I don't like to see characters in stories suffer something horrible just to be cured by another character's love and everything is magically fine because now they're dating someone. It's just... not realistic and I think it sets a weird tone that a person will only get better once they accept another person into their heart. Don't get me wrong, I think it's important for a person who suffers mental illness to have people who support them and care about them, but I don't want to push this idea that romance will cure them, if that make's sense. That's why I left Kuroo and Kenma's relationship open ended. If I really felt like making this a 50K story, I think it would take that much time to really get them to a place where they're okay with being together. So like it's not a matter of IF they like each other, I wanted to establish that that wasn't even the issue because clearly they do love each other both platonically and romantically. It's the whole "Okay is simply loving each other enough? Is being in a relationship worth it when there's XYZ things stacked against me? Am I a person that can function being in a romantic relationship when I'm effectively an asocial person? Can I provide the amount of emotional labor needed to go into a relationship when I can barely provide any emotional labor for myself?" This is essentially Kenma's thought process (because I've had this conversation with many people who have dealt with similar issues). 
> 
> ANYWAYS. 
> 
> Thanks for reading lol
> 
> [tumblr](http://broukuto.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/patroklov) | [playlist for this fic](https://open.spotify.com/user/vanzscales/playlist/6FPhQXBfNCpuFuOOVvbjPf)


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